I remember thee, Joseph, as one to whom I did a great wrong, but what that wrong was I have forgotten. Do not try to recall it, Joseph said to him, no wrong was done, Jesus. Thou’rt the rich man’s son, he said, and what I remember concerning thee is thy horse, for he was handsomer than any other. His name was Xerxes. Dost still ride him? Is he in the stables of yon house? He was sold, Joseph answered, to pay for our journey in Syria, and some of the price went to pay for thy cloak. The cloak on my shoulders? Jesus asked. The cloak on thy shoulders is one of my cloaks. Thou earnest here naked. I was carried here by an angel, Jesus replied, for I felt the feathers of his wings brush across my face. But why that strange look, Joseph?—those curious, inquisitive eyes? It was an angel that carri
